


it took a wild heart

by berkingbad



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Charles Being Concerned, Crushes, Doctor Charles, Drunk Arthur, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Arthur Morgan, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Pining, Realization, Sleeping Together, it's real cute, they share a tent, we'll see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 19:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berkingbad/pseuds/berkingbad
Summary: Arthur realizes he's in love with Charles and everything about him. He doesn't know what to do with that feeling.





	it took a wild heart

**Author's Note:**

> cute, pining, mild angst, cute cowboys. charles takes care of arthur. might be smut later, tbd. we're taking this one step at a time, pardners. this has not been beta'd and has only been ~75% edited. bear with me.
> 
> takes place around chapter 2, aka happier times. 
> 
> my first foray into rdr2 fic, but i'm feeling a lot of feelings about cowboys and i needed to do something with them.  
> let me know what you think!   
> yee,  
>  haw  
> tumblr: softiearthur

Arthur thought he was dreaming. He was floating, being pulled along a gentle current, aimless and calm. The sky above him was dotted with stars, completely cloudless, the moon emitting a soft blue light that filtered down through the trees. The water trickled down his cheek, warm like a bath, and he tried to lift his head. It was only when he couldn’t quite move that he realized this couldn’t be a dream. 

Arthur struggled to open his eyes and when he was finally able to get them unstuck, his vision was blurry with something hot and dark. He lifted a heavy hand that didn’t quite feel like his own and rubbed at his eye with rough knuckles. His vision cleared for a moment, and then he felt something thick and hot trickling back down over his eyebrow and into his eye. He squinted at his knuckles and saw smears of blood - his own blood. He turned his head to let the blood fall sideways and immediately felt a hot line of pain run down the back of his neck.

“Arthur? Hey, wake up, Arthur,” a soft voice said, and the gentle bobbing of the current stopped. 

Arthur wasn’t floating in water at all - he was being carried. He realized suddenly that it wasn’t waves cradling him, but arms - warm, strong arms. He turned his head the other way and saw Charles looking down at him, the moonlight a soft halo around his head. His skin was tinted blue in the darkness, but Arthur could see some scuffs on his face and bloodstains on his shirt collar. He wondered whose blood it had been. 

“Welcome back, Arthur.” Charles’ teeth shone bright in the darkness, and Arthur felt a wave of warmth wash over him. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur said thickly, his mouth dry.

“You’ve been missing for three days,” Charles said, gently adjusting Arthur’s weight in his arms. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur marveled at how casually Charles handled his weight, as though they weren’t nearly the same size. “Hermes came back to camp without you, so I came looking for you and tracked you here; you were half-dead when I found you. What happened?”

Arthur swallowed and his throat burned. It came back in flashes, racing across his mind like a series of choppy photographs, all in vivid color.

He’d been riding to Strawberry to collect a debt for Strauss. He and Hermes had just passed Flatneck Station when, suddenly, they were surrounded. O’Driscolls - lots of them - and there wasn’t anywhere to run. He’d been able to shoot a few of them, but it wasn’t long before he’d been shot in the leg, just above the knee, and Hermes had panicked, stumbled, and Arthur had gone sliding off the saddle sideways, unable to hold on with only one hand, the other one instinctively pressed down on the gunshot wound, warm blood seeping through his fingers. 

One of the O’Driscolls had hogtied him and dragged him by the rope around his ankles for what felt like miles, Arthur bleeding and cursing and coughing the dust kicked up by their horses the whole way. Once they’d gotten to their camp, the O’Driscolls had tied him to a tree and then took turns beating him after Arthur had spat in their faces - probably not the brightest move on his part, Arthur admitted - and threatened to cut his balls off with his own damn hunting knife until the drink got the better of them and they all fell asleep around the fire. Arthur didn’t remember much after that; everything had gone all hazy and dark and he’d faded out of consciousness as the burning sensation in his leg had grown hotter and hotter. 

The crease in Charles’ forehead had deepened with each sentence of Arthur’s story. He’d started walking again, faster, breathing deep and quick through his nose. 

“Where, uh… where we goin’, Charles?” Arthur asked, clearing his throat after a few moments of quiet, just Charles’ breaths and footsteps breaking the silence.

“I set up camp a little ways away from where I found you. Left Taima hitched up in some trees, figured it’d be faster and quieter to track you on foot.” Charles’ jaw clenched, the shadow of it rippling towards his cheek, and Arthur felt a strange, distant pang in his belly. Not pain, but something odd, sort of like nervousness. Something he hadn’t felt in years. “We’re almost there.”

“Thanks... for comin’ after me,” Arthur said. The words felt inadequate on his lips. He’d be dead if it weren’t for Charles.

Charles shook his head slightly. “Don’t be stupid. ‘Course I came after you.” His dark eyes flitted down and met Arthur’s, holding his gaze for just long enough to make Arthur’s stomach do that weird twist again. 

\---

It wasn’t long before they’d arrived at Charles’ makeshift camp; a small fire, a bedroll beneath a canvas tent, extra blankets for Arthur, a turkey Charles had hunted on the way roasting slow over the flames. 

Charles had wrapped Arthur in blankets and sat him up against a log, nice and close to the fire, a hunk of roasted turkey in one hand and a nearly-empty bottle of whisky in the other. Charles had intended for it just to serve as a slight painkiller so Arthur could get some sleep, but he’d gotten a little carried away until the pain in his leg had subsided to a dull ache and his head felt heavy on his neck. Charles had declined to participate, wanting to stay sharp in case any O’Driscolls came after them.

Arthur could feel the heat in his cheeks and the warmth in his belly as he grinned at Charles across the flames. Everything was a little slow and a little fuzzy, and Arthur decided the whisky was the reason he held the shared glance for a few too many moments. 

“I’m gonna feed Taima,” Charles mumbled. His hair, dark and silky in the firelight, fell in front of his face as he stood, and Arthur felt something squeeze his chest uncomfortably tight for just a moment. 

“Let me help you,” Arthur said, putting the bottle down on the ground next to him and moving to get up. His body was stiff and sore but the whisky dulled the pain. “I got some oats in my bag.”

Charles motioned enough for him to stay seated. “You stay there. You’re crippled.”

Arthur’s bottom lip pushed out into a pout. Charles felt his eyes hold on it, watching the way the light of the fire danced over his glossy pink skin. 

“I’m not a cripple,” Arthur grumbled, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig. 

“Hey, I didn’t prescribe that much,” Charles said, leaning over to snatch the whisky from Arthur’s hand. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a doctor,” Arthur scoffed. “Now gimme my booze back.”

“Sorry,” Charles said, before knocking back the last mouthful. He swallowed, grinned wickedly, and tossed the empty bottle to the ground. “Can’t have you abusing your medication,” he called over his shoulder as he approached the treeline where Taima was hitched.

Arthur grumbled only until Charles was out of earshot before he went to reach for his journal. There was something about the pools of shadow across the planes of Charles’ face in the firelight, how it turned from a flickering orange glow to a gentle blue tint when he looked up at the night sky. Arthur needed to draw it - or at least try. A quick sketch would do for now, he could tidy it up and add the details - the white polka dots on his blue chambray shirt, the glint in his eyes, the slope of his full lips when he smiled - later. 

“Now you get inside the tent and sleep.” 

Charles had come back from feeding the horse, snuck up on him with those goddamn silent footsteps. Arthur snapped his journal shut. If Charles had seen anything, seen what he was sketching, he wasn’t letting on. 

Arthur grumbled to himself as he pulled himself up and made his way to the tent, favoring his wounded leg as the ground seemed to tilt under his feet.

“You sleeping out there?” Arthur mumbled, setting himself down on the bedroll. His spurs clinked as he tugged his boots off, but he looked up just in time to see Charles’ eyes flick over to his - quickly, briefly - before they darted back to the fire. Arthur looked down and focused intently on removing his gun belt.

“I’ll stay up for now, make sure nobody followed us,” Charles said, but even through the haze of exhaustion and the liquor, Arthur heard something in his voice. Almost like hesitation. 

“C’mon, Charles. Sleep in here with me.”

The words were out of Arthur’s mouth before he even knew what he was saying. His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he scrambled to find something else to say, something that would make this sudden tension dissipate. He fixed his eyes on his boots, as if somehow the worn leather would provide him the words. They didn’t. 

“It’s… cold,” he offered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “And nobody followed us, I’m pretty sure you killed em all.” He chuckled softly, glancing back up at Charles. 

Charles’ eyes were there to meet Arthur’s, steady and shiny in the firelight. 

“You sure?” Charles asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. 

Arthur nodded and made a show of scooting over, shoving his boots to the corner to make room. He patted the space next to him and then immediately felt stupid. He felt heat rush to his cheeks and hoped it was dark enough in the tent that Charles wouldn’t be able to see him blushing. 

Charles had a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he made his way over to the tent, crouching to fit under the flaps of canvas. He sat on top of the bedroll next to Arthur, just an inch or two between them, and kicked his boots off quietly.

Arthur lay back, the ground cold and hard beneath the wool blanket. Maybe his boots had given him the right words after all. 

He smiled wryly to himself and closed his eyes, hands folded over his belly. He could feel his chest rising and falling with each breath, he could hear the crackling of the fire, the soft chirps of the crickets and the wind gently rustling the leaves. And then he felt the warmth of a blanket being draped over him. 

“You tucking me in?” Arthur said, grinning crookedly as he opened his eyes to see Charles leaning over him, adjusting the blanket over Arthur’s shoulders. Arthur’s breath hitched when he realized just how close Charles’ face was to his own. 

“Look, I’m just trying to make sure you don’t freeze to death. You did get shot a couple days ago and you’ve had a hell of a time since. Listen to your doctor.” There was a warmth underneath the sarcasm in Charles’ voice, a genuine concern behind the half smile. 

“Alright, alright, doc. Whatever you say.” Arthur pulled the blanket up a little closer to his chin, burrowing down into it. It was nice to be warm, and it felt good to let his bruised, aching body finally be still. 

Charles covered Arthur with another blanket before taking the final one for himself. They lay there together on their backs, staring up at the pitched canvas, their breathing eventually falling into a matching rhythm. 

Arthur thought maybe he’d never been happier. 

 

\--- 

Arthur woke the next morning and found himself alone in the tent. He heard crackling from outside and a gentle aroma floated in on the breeze past the canvas. 

Arthur poked his head out of the tent and saw Charles squatting beside the fire, slowly turning the meat from a rabbit on a spit over the flames.

“G’mornin’,” Arthur said gruffly, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his fist. “You’ve been busy.”

Charles shrugged and gave Arthur a slight smile. “It’s not much, just a small rabbit I found this morning. You seem to have slept well.”

Arthur felt heat rush to his cheeks and ducked back inside the tent before Charles was able to see him blush. Never better, he thought as he tugged his boots on and reached for his gun belt. By the time he came back outside, Charles had finished cooking the rabbit and had divided it up for the two of them, along with some freshly brewed coffee. 

“A doctor and a chef?” Arthur said, half-grinning around a mouthful of his breakfast. “A man of many talents, Mr. Smith.” 

Charles laughed. It was soft, warm, belly-born and it reminded Arthur of windchimes and… home. 

He felt really hot of a sudden and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. What the hell was he thinking? Whatever that was in him last night, that was just the whisky and the fresh wounds, wasn’t it? He was perfectly sober now, just some residual aching on his bruised face and in his leg. Those whisky-driven thoughts should be long gone. 

Arthur cleared his throat and took a swig of hot coffee, the steam curling up over the top of the aluminum mug. “So, uh, can’t help but notice that Hermes isn’t here. Is he alright? Was he hurt?”

“No, no,” Charles shook his head. “He’s perfectly fine, I just left him at camp because… well, I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I came looking for you.” 

“Well, ain’t dead yet,” Arthur said with a grim smile, lifting his mug for a moment like he was giving a toast. 

\--- 

Getting Arthur and his bum leg up behind Taima’s saddle was probably among the most humiliating things Arthur had ever experienced. He couldn’t bend it without letting out a string of bellowed curse words, nevermind put all his weight on it. 

Eventually, Arthur had managed to half-hoist himself up - Taima was not thrilled to have a large man flopping around on her back - while Charles, tears of laughter running slowly down his wide, grinning cheeks, shoved from below. His hand may have ended up directly on Arthur’s ass - a whole palmful of asscheek - in the effort, which seemed to stop time for a moment, at least on Arthur’s end, but somehow Arthur ended up upright, facing the right way, just in time for Charles to slide himself onto the saddle and in doing so let his hair fall across the brim of Arthur’s hat. It smelled like smoke and long grass and flowers and Arthur had almost swayed over and slid right off.

As they trotted off back towards camp, Arthur was relieved Charles couldn’t turn around and see the red in his face, which only doubled when Arthur slid his hands to Charles’ sides, gripping him for balance.


End file.
